The Fine Line
by Chloe Winchester
Summary: Dean talks about his feelings toward Castiel. Destiel! Set during season 9. Rated for language.


**The Fine Line**

I hate him.

I hate how fucking annoying he is. The stupid little questions he asks, like how to work a washing machine or what shampoo's for. I hate how he'll stop in the middle of the check-out line at the grocery store and think it's appropriate to tell me the history of the penny while there's ten damn people behind us and a kid waiting to take money from him in front of him.

I hate how he knows everything about me. Every, little, thing. I hate how he knows what I like to eat, what side I sleep on, I hate that he knows I sleep better if I hug a pillow and that I've been watching _Doctor Sexy _for eight years. I hate that he's counted the freckles on my face and is working on the ones on my shoulders. I hate how he says he's sorry for the scars he sees that he knows he caused. I hate that he brings me coffee every morning, I hate that he does my laundry and knows how I fold the shit.

I hate how he can know so much and nothing all at once. Like how to shave his damn face or wash his hair. Or brushing his teeth, using the crosswalks in a city, that he doesn't have to give every single person who's homeless or holding a sign that they need help to feed their kids money. I hate that he doesn't understand why someone would lie about that.

I hate how he forgives. I hate that no matter what I say, no matter what I yell, or scream or throw at him, no matter what I do to him he won't get fucking mad at me. I hate that look he gets when I hurt his feelings. I hate that when I finally man up and say I'm fucking sorry he just…smiles. And says "It's okay, Dean." I hate that he knows what my nightmares are about and asks how he can help with them. I hate that he counts how many drinks I've had and tells me the number after I finish each one. I hate that he started drinking too.

I hate that he lives with us now. I hate that he falls asleep in the Impala with his head on my jacket. I hate that he asked me to give away the trench coat to someone who might need it. I hate that I kept it. I hate that he tries to cook breakfast and burns toast and leaves shells in the eggs even when I watched him look for them. I hate that I eat it and tell him it's awesome anyway. I hate that he sings in the shower. I hate that I can't understand what he's singing. I hate the one time I heard him humming my favorite song. I hate how proud he was when he made an edible cheeseburger for the first time. I hate that he asked to learn to use Sam's laptop and Sam spent hours showing him how. I hate that when he crashed the damn thing he bussed tables at a diner for a month working fifty hours a week to get him a new one. I hate it when he stays up late with me and tells me about his wings and how much he misses them. I hate how he cried when I gave him the feathers of his we had left over.

I hate his freakin' face. I hate how I can't get the color of his eyes out of my head. I hate how messy his hair is when he rolls out of bed. I hate that when he didn't have his own clothes he wore mine. I hate how my shirts were a little too big on him. I hate how careful his hands are when he touches me. I hate how he insists on stitching me up when I'm capable of it my damn self. I hate that when he's sleeping it's the only time he looks like he's happy. I hate that he wants me to teach him how to drive. I hate that I said yes. I hate that I've caught him praying. I hate that he felt like he needed to say he was sorry for it. I hate that he said he missed Benny. And I hate that he said sorry when I yelled at him for bringing him up.

I hate that he likes the same movies I do and the same shows that Sam does. I hate that he tries to make references and gets mad when he gets them wrong. I hate that I pick on him so much to make him do that.

I hate the protection tattoo in the middle of his back with wings around it to make him feel better. I hate that I can still see where they were before he fell. I hate that he didn't make a sound when he got it.

I hate that he's scared of the dark. I hate that he asked if he could sleep in my room and I said yes. I hate that he got in bed with me and I didn't stop him and waking up with him beside me was the best feeling in the world. I hate that he snores and I think it's cute. I hate the way he makes my heart pound sometimes when he looks at me. I hate that I dream about him. I hate that he can tell. I hate that he likes strawberry ice cream and stays up late to tell me about what the motel we're staying in used to be, or about the Indians that lived around the Bat Cave before the Men of Letters were even thought of. I hate that I smile when I listen and watch his eyes light up like I can't live without it.

I hate that I love him. I hate that I can't tell him. I hate that Sam knows I do and Bobby did too. Hell, I hate that Benny knew how I felt. I hate that he doesn't know. I hate that I can't admit to myself that I've cared for him like this for years now. I hate that I sound like fucking Julia Stiles in that Heath Ledger movie.

I hate that he's so close right now. I hate that he's closing his eyes and leaning even closer. I hate that kissing him feels like coming home and if I died right here, right now I'd be okay. I hate that he makes me this happy.

And I hate, more than anything, that I don't hate him at all.

I do really fucking hate _10 Things I Hate About You_, though.


End file.
